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GLOBAL NOMAD: LIVING OUT OF A SUITCASE, TRAVELLING THE WORLD

I used to say I had one of the best jobs in the world – or one of the worst. My judgment changed depending on the context and whom I was talking to.

The plus sides: frequent foreign travel and stays in non-touristy locations; not much time spent in an office, generally meaning I was spared much of the daily bureaucracy and office politics, with lots of trips to the field; a high degree of independence in how I managed my work; meeting new people from different cultures; and opportunities to really see how people live at grass roots level and being able to interact with them. It’s a job where you felt you were a frontline witness to the changes in peoples’ lives and had immense privilege to be able to document that to the outside world.

The down sides: frequent foreign travel and stays in non-touristy locations (long waits at airports; stays in countries with creaking or little infrastructure and patchy or non-existent telephone and internet connections; accommodation in guesthouses or basic hotels that were often basic and dirty – and some, I suspected, used as brothels - often in places where water and electricity can be a luxury); not much time spent in an office, with long hours sitting in four wheel drives, often negotiating appalling dirt track roads and often in vehicles with broken air conditioning in searing temperatures; on-call at all times of the day with crazy deadlines and tight schedules; long times spent away from home. Meeting people living in abject poverty, often coping with stressful situations brought up by disasters and conflict.

I was given lots of warnings when I accepted my job: about how people who took on roles like the one I was accepting, as a Humanitarian Support Professional, a small group of experts in their own fields who are moved about from country to country at short notice, responding to emergencies and disasters, would often suffer from burn out and leave after several years.

The burnout factor I could well understand. I did my job for nearly six years and while I still loved the travel, the exposure to different cultures, ideas and issues, I often began to wish I wasn’t being moved around so often, that I could have longer stays in the countries I was being sent to, instead of behaving like a firefighting journalist, jetting into new places and instantly becoming the country expert. Often, my stays were so short that I don’t even bother unpacking my suitcase.

The prospect of long queues at airports, the inevitable close scrutinisation of my bags, as I would be carrying one case full of video gear, with leads, microphones and other bits and pieces that always provoked further interest (apparently microphone cable leads look like bullets in x-ray machines) could lead to several more security checks even in the most politically benign of countries. It all began to, cast certain pallor over news that I was about to be re-deployed again.

The constant need to re-pack my bags, to take culturally appropriate clothing (headscarves and loose tunics with long sleeves in countries like Somalia, Somaliland and Pakistan) and weather-appropriate clothing (lots of layers and a jumper and warm jacket in places like Ethiopia, where it can get shockingly cold at night even though its blazingly hot in the day).

The jetlag. The need to instantly become tuned in to wherever I’ve arrived; to get to grips with the issues and messages, the social challenges; to work out where I can go for a decent dinner and, if I’m very lucky, a swim to relax or even a place to practice salsa dancing (Addis Ababa, Ethiopia’s dusty capital, I discovered, is a surprisingly fun spot for this, as well as having some great live jazz venues; so too is Delhi; and I’d even managed to find somewhere to salsa dance in some unlikely countries, such as Bangladesh and Pakistan were social and religious conventions don’t encourage such physical proximity between the sexes). The ability and need to fast-forward relationships and friendships. I may only be in town for a few weeks…lets get to know each other, but lets do it fast!

In my bags, most of the time: my work gear (video camera, stills camera, tripod, tape recorder, microphones and leads; a laptop); country-appropriate clothing, mosquito repellents, tablets and other medical stuff, and some luxuries - or as I had now decided, necessities: an Ipod (music to keep me awake during the long boring waits in airports; music to dance to when I’m feeling stressed out); a silk sheet sleeping bag (super-light and compact and highly useful when you’re in dubiously clean guesthouses in the middle of nowhere); a coffee mug which is thermal and has a plunger so I can make my own filter coffee; decent coffee (I’m a caffeine addict unable to operate unless I have had at least one morning coffee); a wind-up head torch (it doesn’t need batteries) and a book or two for those tedious airport waits and entertainment at night when there is none (recently replaced by a Kindle which is a joy to use and offers a mini library so I never need to worry about running out of decent reading material); and a super-thin yoga mat (when its hard to find any other place to do some exercise). Plus, of course, my Blackberry (later to be changed for a more beloved Iphone) that beeped and buzzed as I travel around the world, making me (almost always) instantly contactable by the office and journalists.

The job advert for my post was not misleading. It mentioned that about 90% of the time, there would be foreign travel. At the time, it seemed like my dream job and that the requirements and description had been tailor-written for me.

I had been working as a broadcast journalist and, for the past decade, had lived and worked in Asia. I rarely went to visit the UK. I considered myself truly an expat and was still yearning for more foreign adventures. I called myself a global nomad.

“You’re the media unit’s Lara Croft”, was one remark I’d heard which became a sort of refrain when I made a rare trip back to our headquarters in Oxford, England, referring to the fictional video Tomb Raider action-heroine, later portrayed in the film version by actress, Angelina Jolie. I guess the fire-fighting role, jetting in and out of countries and getting into all kinds of adventures, was part of the job. The truth is there was not much glamour and a lot of hard work, late nights and weekends forgotten as I traveled to the field, or finished reports or video edits in time for another tight deadline for a press appeal or event.

But it was an amazing job.

I counted myself truly privileged to have had the chance to go to the places that I had the opportunity to travel to, to meet the people who’ve so graciously told me their stories and taken me into their confidences. To witness how they live their lives; to see the difficulties and successes; the hardships and the joys. To see how, with some aid, education, campaigning or skills training, lives have been transformed.

And that’s partly why I wanted to write this book. To tell their stories.

I often went to some of the poorest countries in the world, where there are few educational opportunities, poor health services, and few job prospects. Places where corruption and nepotism prevail; where there are limited freedoms of speech and movements; where people often feel their governments have abandoned them or are simply incompetent. But, in general, the overwhelming feeling I had when I left was not one of despair, but of hope. People refused to be ground down; they refused to give up hoping and refused to allow themselves to wallow in feelings of helplessness. They wanted better lives for themselves and their children. They showed dignity and grace; they worked hard and were determined to strive for a better future. They could laugh, as well as be angry or disappointed with themselves and others. And they could dream and share their visions of a better future.

Despite their daily difficulties, their stories were often inspirational and that’s why I think I must have had one of the best jobs in the world, as I had the chance to hear them and the opportunity to tell their stories to a wider, global audience so that their voices didn’t go unheard.